Phantom
by Avid Vampire Hunter
Summary: UlquiHime: For eleven years he had watched her. Protected her. Loved her. All from behind a mirror. But when the woman he adores is sought after by a powerful bachelor, Ulquiorra's subdued passion finally rises to the surface. Will he be able to claim her heart for his own, or is it already too late? Inspired by Andrew Lloyd Webber's "The Phantom of the Opera." (AU)
1. Through the Glass

**Author's note: **I know, I know, I should be working on P&P. My muse was kind of screaming this idea at me, and I wanted to see how it would turn out. Please let me know what you thought. [I've actually had this idea for a while... It was about time I started writing it~] I love hearing from you!

*hugs*

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><p><strong>Phantom<strong>

_Avid Vampire Hunter_

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><p><strong>Chapter I<strong>

Through the Glass

((()))

Dismal darkness sunk through every wall, the continuous _drip_,_ drip_ echoing through the empty catacombs.

Well… almost empty.

A small form shifted in the darkness. Once, then twice. With a silent, rasped huff, the figure rose.

Covered in mud and grime on nearly every part of his body, a young boy stood on flimsy legs. His breathing came in short, labored pants. He barely took a step forward before he could hardly support his own weight anymore. He crashed against a nearby surface; a wall. Dirt encrusted hair fell against his cheek as he struggled to stand upright again.

With a drive rising from an unknown source, the young boy shuffled forward, bracing against the craggy wall all the while, feebly grasping at its jagged outcroppings. The boy hissed in pain. He was naked, and the raw, scabbed skin under his feet created sharp needles of fire with every step, every breath he took.

The tunnel was filthy. The black abyss before him threatened to swallow him whole, to steal away any light it could find. Somehow he knew that it would find no such light within him.

Eventually, a flicker caught his eye. He looked up. A dim orb floated and hiccuped light in the distance.

Natural human instinct is to move toward light. For self preservation; sanity. The boy felt no such instinct. No such fear. No drive or desperation because of a small fleck of hope. Hope was forbidden to him long ago.

And this is exactly why he pressed on.

Pain after pain vibrated behind his skin, throbbing ferociously until it became nothing but numbness. After what felt like eternity, the boy finally reached the source. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

The darkness melted away into light before him, bordered on every side. A seal. A doorway into another world.

Gingerly, the curious child reached a hand forward. His nails were crusted and dirty, looking black.

When his hand smacked against something solid he couldn't see, the edges of his eyes widened slightly in surprise. He immediately winced after, however, reaching up at his face to find one of his eyes swollen.

He realized that the surface before him was not space, but translucent matter. Glass. Yes, he was very familiar with such a thing, although it had never been in one piece. The harder and longer he looked, the more of himself he could see.

An ugly creature with green eyes stared back at him, into his very void of a soul. Memory after memory of his appearance slowly flooded into his mind.

Salted water fell down his cheeks, tracing over marks covered in smut. He knew _they_ were there, the trails of a devil's child.

In the low light of his reflection, he could see his eye swollen and crusted in something just a little more red than the others. Patches of pale skin and bone-thin legs highlighted his bleeding feet.

A sudden, rusted squeak stole his attention forward, coming from the side opposite the glass.

"Come child, it is late. You must retire."

A tall woman slowly and gently ushered in a young girl covered head to toe in black. After some shuffling and lighting a few more candles, which still didn't add much luminescence, the woman supplied a small nightgown and laid them on a dresser before her. The shrouded girl neither moved nor spoke.

The woman smoothed a hand over the girl's clothed hair. The boy behind the glass could not see her face or the color of her hair, but could easily see her clutching something tightly to her chest.

"I will be just down the hall if you need me," the woman paused, and kneeled down before the child, wrapping her in a tight embrace, "I am very sorry about your brother, Miss Inoue." After a pregnant moment of silence, and again no response from the girl in black, the woman left, closing the heavy wooden door behind her.

The boy kept his breathing quiet and shallow, afraid of being heard and eventually captured.

He watched with rapt attention as the girl suddenly reached up and pushed the hood of her cloak away from her head.

Brightly blazing hair bounced out, but he could only glimpse an outline of her face, for she was still facing away from him. Her hair was sloppily cut, one side ghastly shorter than the other. He didn't blink.

When the girl turned towards him, all time froze.

She was looking straight at him. His breath caught in his throat.

Suddenly, she was closer. How did she get so close? His heart thumped and pounded wildly against his chest, making breathing more difficult than it already had been. He was suddenly enveloped in a world of something both warm and cold, good and evil, life and death.

He was utterly lost to everything around him. Her eyes were the first thing his own decided to capture. They were red and puffed, overflowing with tears. Her eyes were the world. Oceans of grey and fields of gentle, warm brown. He had never seen anyone like this. She was so beautiful. Everything became worthless but the need to reach out and see if she was real.

The girl's grip on whatever she was holding became slack. It was enough for the boy to see the faded face of a man pasted sloppily on a cut of wood. He then realized that it was a picture. His wandering trail of thought was immediately snapped back into place when she moved.

The orange-haired girl raised an arm, frailly laying a hand against the surface opposite him. He watched her palm press against the glass. The boy could only continue to stare in wonder as she leaned closer to him.

As if in a trance, he raised his own hand, wincing at the pain that shot up his arm. He placed his to hers, bracing his shoulder against the wall in a desperate effort to stay standing.

Then she spoke.

Her voice was so soft and quiet, shaking from the effort to hold back her tears. He, in turn, couldn't tear his eyes away.

"Y-you… are not… ugly…"

His breath caught again.

"Y-you, you are… not… worthless…" She rested her small head against the glass, and the arm holding the picture dropped limply to her side. It fell loosely to the floor. Tears soon followed, dripping from her chin and plopping one after the other onto the ground, each one shining like a precious jewel in the low light around them. "You," she sniffed, "are not… alone."

Her words stirred something inside him like nothing else ever had before. And even though he knew they were not spoken to him, that she couldn't have _possibly_ known he was there, they were meant for him. And he suddenly realized something, something he had never experienced.

She was like him.

Waves of loneliness crashed over his heart, every one from the girl before him. He had been alone for so long, surrounded by darkness, that he'd forgotten what it felt like to...

But now she was here, and she was like him.

The weakness in his body suddenly became worthless, and he stood up straight. Tall. He recognized a crippling soul when he saw one, and he _had_ to help her. She needed someone to lead her in the dark.

He leaned his head forward against the one-way glass, imagining her skin there instead of the cold speculum. "You, are… not alone," his voice echoed quietly. It didn't sound like his own. When was the last time he had spoken?

She looked up, grey eyes searching. She'd heard him!

"Brother…?"

The boy didn't answer. He was no one's brother, and he knew that for a fact. She was mistaken, the man in the picture was dead. Gone.

But if her brother was what she needed, then he had no heart to deny her.

Still, he could not bring himself to speak. They both stood in silence, searching, waiting, _wanting_. And the two of them stayed that way even after the candlelight flickered, waned, and finally died.


	2. Sweet Soprano

**Author's note: **Ah, back again. Sorry, it's been waaay too long since I updated this... I'm back and my muse being stronger than ever! The story will get better in the next chapter. It'll be more... comedic. :)

*hugs*

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><p><strong>Chapter II<strong>

Sweet Soprano

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><p>It rose in her like an electric current. Every passion to move, to scream how she felt–the music in her head. The world felt large under her feet, like she was looking down into an endless abyss. Mind-boggling. She wanted to touch it. <em>Experience<em> it.

Her body moved once again, arms outstretched. Color exploded from her fingers, fanning away and creating something brilliant. A landscape.

Rich green followed the trail of her fingers, becoming swaying grass. She could already feel the breeze in her hair, soft tendrils of cool air caressing her cheeks, forcing her eyes shut in blissful peace.

Her feet carried her along, further into the sky. Lighter than anything she'd ever felt before. The world sat beneath her, creation bursting from her fingers. A blue sky engulfing her.

Music tapped under her feet in steady rhythm, bursting around her in steady staccatos and sharp, gliding crescendos. Everything was complete, the amazing euphoria in her heart hovered; a levitating stone in her chest. But then, as she reached out to touch the sky, the softest clouds she'd ever seen became dark, and her image burned away, replaced with water-stained wood.

And then she awoke.

Her feet no longer rested on air, the chill of the floorboards causing small needles of cold to bury themselves in her bare feet. Her dainty fingers rested against the wall, falling down it slowly. A soft caress.

Grey light slipped in from the window behind her, casting her shadow upon the wall. It made her mind blank momentarily, all her attention focused on staring into a dark corner.

Perhaps this was all that was left to her from those dreams. Beautiful sights, an old home long forgotten to her. She'd thought that life had left her. One of complete peace. This shadow that rested before her, it was like reality sending her a message. No matter how colorful your dreams are, you will always wake up to shadows.

She had moved in her sleep again. She faintly remembered the music, a sweet syrup in her mind, slowly filling her head. She hummed to herself as she prepared for the day, the small notes from behind her closed mouth becoming random as she forgot the tune, bit by bit.

The sun had only risen a tad bit farther when she prepared to leave her room. She'd made the bed, closed the curtains, and was on her way out the door when she looked back.

The mirror had always been there, large and wider than her. Ever since she'd arrived at the opera house over a decade ago, that very mirror emanated to her a source of all the mysterious things in the world. And even if she were to face it in the dark of night, demons of the earth and of nightmares surrounding her, she would not be afraid. She felt as if more than herself was reflected in that looking glass. Something else behind it, perhaps.

But those thoughts arrived and left in her mind as quickly as dust in the wind. And she smiled at that mirror–that ever-present sense of belonging–before leaving, the door shutting closed behind her to leave the room silent and empty of music.

()

_Everything had become nothing to her, the little sister of the bedridden orchestral master. He coughed, loudly. She could feel the sound of his sickness vibrate behind her ears. A twisted new instrument he'd learned to play._

"_Brother… dear brother… please, say you will be well soon."_

_He'd coughed, again. "Lovely girl, do you know how beautiful you are? Your hair, it is so unique. I will say I will try to be well, if you will never allow your hair to become so short… Listen now, if I were to die, I would come back for you."_

_Her eyes watered. "What can I do?"_

"_Sing for me, child. You have such a wonderful voice… Promise me, if I were to go, that you would still sing. Yes. Sing, grow your hair. Let your beauty shine for all the world to see. This is a promise that you must keep."_

_She'd thought nothing of what he'd said. It was a promise she could keep easily. If something so simple could save him, why wouldn't she take it?_

_His sickness hadn't lasted. Death had swallowed him, leaving behind a tombstone and an old, very used violin._

_She'd wanted to break it… so much. Her sadness and grief became a cocoon. Somehow in her mind, she had believed that if she could break it, then her brother could have broken his coffin just as easily._

_But she never broke his violin. She wore black instead._

_Not long after his death, she was forced into a house filled with girls of many ages–all children. They'd hated her. It was easy to see. Easy to hear in their words. A glass-breaking chorus. She didn't want to provoke them, these dark singers, but they eventually sought her out. Where was the music in her heart when they had taken the shears to her head? The merciless sounds of snipping? A terribly horrible symphony. It brought her to tears._

_But then she was found. A woman who'd known her brother. What was his name again? The girl's eyes had been too blank to see, ears too fazed to hear, mind too muddled to remember. She was still wearing the black._

_And then there was the mirror. Glimmering shadows in the candlelight. She wasn't frightened then, but she'd known that once the lights went out, that's all she would be near. A reflection to the dark. Loneliness._

_She'd fallen apart then, surrounded by nothing but candles. Finally alone, she could cry._

_That reflection in the mirror… it didn't feel like herself. The torments strangled her, making it hard to breathe. So the child tried to speak them away. To tell herself that she was _not_ what they said she was._

_But then his voice had come. Quiet, rasped, she'd almost never heard._

"_You are not alone."_

_Her hope had shined for the first time in what'd felt like an eternity. Had her brother fulfilled his promise? Had he truly returned to her? She called out for him quietly, but there was no answer. Nonetheless, she had known what she'd heard. That still, small voice gave her something precious. Those words, mirroring her own, instilled a small seed in her chest._

()

And, as the years had passed by, Orihime Inoue, the sister of the famous violinist Sora Inoue, grew into an independent, strong woman. And that small seed grew into a new heart, one filled with imagination and longing. But most importantly…

...Full of music.

((()))

It was like a stampede. A stampede of soft footfalls echoing off the walls.

Every girl ran, corsets tight and suffocating. The life of a ballerina was always so. Orihime's role in the upcoming performance was one of little importance. But Nelliel persisted on having the readhead up front with her, so they both ran, side by side.

Orihime had no idea why everyone insisted on her being a ballerina. She was klutzy at best, completely disastrous the next step down. She was terribly unbalanced, but, after practicing late into the night over–and over–again, she was finally able to put one foot beside the other, raise her arms, and let her hands glide down the air, as if painting a picture only she could see.

When they finally arrived on the stage, all of the girls around Orihime and Nelliel were gasping for a breath, while they both stood with happy grins. Orihime was very optimistic that day. And why not? She liked being happy.

Nelliel clapped her hands together excitedly and began stretching, arms high above her head and a pleasant smile on her face. But as they both worked away any tension in their muscles, a familiar noise came from beyond. Catcalls sounded, and Nelliel and Orihime both looked over to welcome the intrusion with grim faces.

"What are you doing here, Nnoitora?" Nelliel asked calmly.

Orihime felt bile rise in her throat as she watched the impossibly tall man approach them. He wasn't alone, either. Men followed behind him, staring hungrily at the other ballerinas. Their intentions were obvious, and Orihime looked away. She decided that the ground would be the best place to rest her eyes.

"Just enjoying the view," his voice was slick and grimy, "You don't get to see to much backstage, but up in the rafters," he licked his lips with a pointed tongue, "you women can be fully_appreciated_."

Nelliel only fixed him with a leveled stare, and he frowned. Nnoitora leaned around her to peer at Orihime. "Well, if it isn't our little _prima_. Shouldn't you be dancing?" Before anyone could make a move to stop him, he grabbed Orihime by the shoulder and leaned dangerously close to her face. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

Suddenly something snapped in her mind. It reminded her of a book being shut loudly. It wasn't a gentle melody, but one of rage. And as she focused on it, she could feel notes of hate plucked randomly. The sensation glided down her throat, and a word popped into her mind, one that she alone could never imagine herself thinking.

_Kill._

She wrenched away from him just as Nelliel's hand flew straight into his cheek. It was very unladylike for a woman to punch a man, but Orihime was thankful nonetheless. The younger girl hid behind Nelliel, not daring to look at her assaulter.

Nnoitora rubbed his hand ruefully against his cheek, glaring at Nelliel. A disgusting smirk grew on his thin lips. "Jealous, my _dear_?"

Both girls shivered slightly.

"Bah, neither of you are any fun, anyways." He turned away and walked back towards the wings of the stage, his followers trailing him like loyal sheep to a shepard. But, before he disappeared, he looked back and fixed a stare on Orihime. "Next time, don't play coy." Then he was gone, only the traces of utter fright left behind.

Orihime was frozen. Her eyes had unfocused. That hateful sound she'd heard still lingered above her ears, fading away into a pulse of distant anger. Like a roll of thunder in the distance. But then, so suddenly it surprised her, it became gentle, like the sound of falling rain. It fell in rivulets down her arms, making her finest hairs rise. The feeling of dainty pressure accumulated on her lower back, like a hand pressed against her for comfort and reassurance. She could practically sense the words whispered into her ear. Calming, but with undertones of upset… She–

"Orihime!"

Orihime's shoulders were shaken violently, her head rocking back and forth. When she was stilled, her skull seemed to flood with warm water. "Nelliel?"

"Good gracious, I've been calling for you for the longest time! What's going on with you?"

"W-What?" Orihime looked around. All of the ballerinas were in position, and the singers began to arrive onstage. Orihime was momentarily distracted by their costumes until Nelliel pinched her cheek. "Huh?"

Nelliel's expression became worrisome. Orihime had no idea why. "Listen," she began, "I'd understand if you want to sit out of practice. I wouldn't want to stick around that _child_, either."

"Child?" Orihime queried.

"Nnoitora. He can be such a brat, the bastard…" she looked Orihime straight in the eye. "You seem very distracted, Orihime. You usually are. But something's… different. Is there anything going on? You know you can tell me."

Yes, Orihime did know that she could tell Nelliel. About anything, really. They had been friends since the beginning of Orihime's life at the opera house. Always together, Orihime could count on her for everything.

But, how was she to describe what was happening to her? She knew it had to be something. It swelled inside of her. A grand tension so close to bursting. All of the dreams she'd had, the music that filled her head constantly… It was beginning to worry her.

It had done something to her. A corruption? Why had her hands suddenly obtained the impulse to strangle, to kill? She could never imagine herself wanting the death of anyone that way! It frightened Orihime terribly.

But what startled her even more was the silent desperation in her heart to _hold on_. The calmness after it was over, the relief untangling her twisted insides, the reassurance… It was all music. Every part of it was a song in her head. A hypnotic melody her body had to succumb to. And she did it willingly. Happily.

"I don't know…" Orihime trailed off. Warm tears peeked over her eyes and spilled down one at a time, catching salt on her tongue. She could sense another chord being struck within her. _Guilt_. The feeling resonated and echoed off the undersides of her skin, and when it faded away, all of the presence she'd experienced was gone. All of the strange sensations in her body; Vanished.

She suddenly felt a little taller, more herself. She smiled at Nelliel and brushed the tears away. "I'm sorry… I don't know what's happening." Orihime cupped her hand around Nelliel's wrist, which was still gripping tightly to her shoulder. "I'm here now. I'm probably just really tired. But there's no need to worry! I'm ready for this practice! I won't let you down!" She chirped happily, like a bird.

Nelliel smiled, although it didn't reach her eyes. She let go of Orihime. "Okay then," they both went to their positions. "Let's get started."

The practice went very well. The entire cast went through the performance twice.

The orchestra was wonderful as well. As she danced alongside her companions, Orihime thought of her brother, Sora. He had been so talented on his violin. He was invited to many different countries to perform, but he would refuse so that he could remain with Orihime. It always made her feel both happy and guilty.

But she had no guilt as she went through the motions she'd practiced for many days–and nights. Music flowed through her. Brightly at first, then somber, then lighter than a feather. She felt as if she could be a current to it, offer herself to the music as a vessel, make it seen. Imbue it into the air. This is what she wanted, this world where everything became real, even if it couldn't be touched, seen, or smelled. But it could be heard. It could be felt _inside_. If that wasn't good enough to be real, then what was?

((()))

Orihime slurped her soup slowly. Though not necessarily hot, it left a burning trail down her throat. To her, it tasted bland. It was a shame that she wasn't allowed into the kitchens, she really wanted to add something to it. Perhaps vinegar would spice things up…

Nelliel talked avidly beside her, chatting about things Orihime had no knowledge of. She fluttered about a man being very handsome, very loud, and very muscular. That new man hired to clean up around the opera gardens. The gardens had been planted long ago to impress guests.

Nelliel flipped her golden hair over her shoulder, and took a massive chomp out of her bread and margarine. "And then, he told me he liked my hair. Can you believe it?" she asked around a full mouth. "That grumpy sour-puss telling me to be quiet and that I had nice hair in the same sentence? He really knows how to charm…" Her soft hazel eyes shined gaily and she swallowed. Eventually, Nelliel offered a sidelong glance at Orihime. She stirred her spoon casually around the bowl. "So… what are you going to do after this?"

Orihime slumped in her seat. By the sound of it, Nelliel already knew. "Same thing I always do," she said quietly so only she and her friend could hear. The ends of her lips pulled up imperceptibly.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Orihime looked up at her, not hiding her smile. "No thank you. I'd like to go alone this time."

Nelliel seemed to relax, and went back to eating. "Good."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence.

((()))

She let her body rest against the wall, allowing herself a perfect view of the room with the mourning candles. Orihime approached her brother's candle slowly, staring at the faded picture and smiling. "Hello, Brother."

The room was silent, but the young girl could already feel the tremor in her shoulders. That feeling was back again, like something else was there with her. "My goodness… a lot has been happening around here, huh…?"

Orihime took a deep breath. "I can hear a voice, Sora… It's in my head… And it sounds so lovely…" She tapped her temple. "I get dreams too… amazing dreams. It's like I'm back home…"

No response.

"Are you there…?" Orihime sat on the floor and shivered from the cold stone. The candlelights flickered. "Brother?"

Nothing answered her, but she began to feel it again, the light touch on her back. It moved upwards, slowly. The chill settled around her neck, the breeze brushing across her cheek and ear. It felt terribly wonderful, and she trembled.

Orihime suddenly grew nervous, wrapping her arms around her waist in an attempt to hold herself together. "Please… Brother I must speak to you…"

The presence stopped touching her, departing from her skin slowly. _Then speak_, it seemed to say.

Tears brimmed her eyes and she opened her mouth, but the words came out on their own. "I've been feeling so strange lately… Brother, I don't know what's happening." She looked at his portrait under the mourning candle. Her voice raised without her realizing. "I can feel it! It's everywhere! I think terrible things! Then I can't think at all!"

She shrunk down so that she was crouching against the floor. Tears ran down her face and dripped from her nose, forming spatters on the floor. A dark presence surrounded her, but no voice, no soft music like she was used to. For a moment she believed that _this_ was a dream, and her real world lay just outside of her own mind. She felt so hollowed out. This place was desolate, empty of any music at all to keep her company. "I must know that I am not going mad…" she whimpered, her hands balling into fists. "I don't know what to do. What do I do!?"

Orihime stared at the picture, eyes half crazed. "You sent it here! You must have! How else would it be here!?"

She suddenly felt ashamed for raising her voice, and gasped quietly, trying–and failing–to stifle her hiccups.

"_Are you afraid?_"

Orihime stopped sobbing instantly. This voice was not gentle in her mind at all, but demanding and monotonous. No pleasantries here, just a question. A command with an unseen voice.

She must have gone mad as a hatter, she surmised, for she answered the question anyway. "No... I'm not afraid…"

But the voice never returned again, and with a sudden gust of wind that froze Orihime's tears on her cheeks, her brother's candle went out.

()

_Nine, almost ten years in the opera house. That was how long Orihime Inoue had lived there._

_That was when it became more than a voice._

_She'd been lying in her bed, listening to the ticking clock and watching the curtains rustle in the midnight breeze. Unable to sleep, as always. She preferred that, however. Then she would get to hear the voice._

_It started as if on a cue, that lovely lullaby. She'd heard it so many times then, she was able to hum along quietly._

_But she felt something creep up her legs from the ankles. To this day she can still feel the prickling warmth. It smoothed out like blossoming tendrils extending under the summer sun. She'd shivered, something strange taking over her faculties._

_The lullaby changed, morphing from something sweet and melodious into a grasping need. It sped in her pulse, ricocheting off her insides. She shivered in her bed as warmth and cold battled their way up her body._

_It was achingly slow. She'd grabbed her pillow and buried her face inside, trying to hide the red on her face. From what, she did not know._

_Seductive notes hummed their way through her ears, dripping like honey. The feeling was marvelous and foreign, convulsing her veins until there was nothing left of her thoughts, only the insane desire for more._

_She'd been pinned against the bed, eyes staring emptily at the dark ceiling, light of the moon playing across it. Notes on a staff._

_No one had been there to see, and no one had been the source of this strange feeling. It was all around her, an embrace of her blooming insanity._

_Hands made of warmth traced up her torso. The movement was savory. She'd wet her lips._

_It all floated around her like rolling mist in the arctic desert, surrounding her with its hypnotism. She'd had no room in her mind for thought, the only thing left of her was this intense sensation, this quickly beating pulse._

_She'd rocked underneath the steady rhythm, holding on tightly to anything she could grab. The music in her ears grew louder, desperate. A lullaby of lust._

_And before she could have been lost forever into that tide of sound, it'd ended. Leaving her to that worthless abyss of sleep. As if something like that could hold any more meaning to her._

_She'd never heard the lullaby again after that. Not for two years._

((()))

Could it be said of him, that he was a beautiful monster? Hiding in the dark, light fleeing his face, his eyes watched her, her tears wiped on her finger was an entrancing movement. Ah, the symphonies he could write…

When she left, he did also. This time, he did not follow. He had caused her too much pain as of late. If he were to let his desires take over, then her trust in him would shatter. Relationships could be so delicate…

So he sank into the darkness, where he belonged.


End file.
